


From Russia With Love

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Flowers, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M is a good guy, M/M, Morality, a package deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: t’s just a bit of fun, this flirting between them. Grayson doesn't mean anything by it, surely. Usually he isn't so receptive to M's playful half-advances, so M decides to play along.And it's just a bit of fun when Grayson sticks his tongue down Midnighter’s throat. The taste of vodka is abrasive, lingering on the kiss. M slides a hand up Grayson’s back to the nape of his neck. Dick’s hair is still wet from his earlier shower, clinging to M’s fingers.It's just a bit of fun, he tells himself. God, they shouldn't be doing this.Basically, what happens in that hotel room in Moscow. Canon-compliant (sort of).





	From Russia With Love

**Author's Note:**

> More dicknighter porn, that's pretty much it. Just a heads up, at the beginning it starts to look like it could be dub-con, but the action gets put to a stop before it could be called that. I personally wouldn't call it dub-con in that instance, but take care if that's the kind of thing which may be upsetting for you. If the general consensus is that it is dub-con, I will change the tagging accordingly.
> 
> Otherwise, please enjoy.
> 
> -Nova xx

 

“To teamwork,” Dick says, holding up his drink. M echoes him, clinking their glasses together, before downing the clear liquid in one gulp. They sit side by side on the hotel bed Dick had claimed as his own. It's fucking cold in their room, but the bottle of vodka M snatched from the lobby should help keep them warm. And if that fails, M has a few more ideas up his sleeve. 

M could have called a door and taken Dick home, or even have just crashed at his place, but hey, he's a romantic at heart. He was a little disappointed when Grayson asked the clerk for two beds, but it  _ was _ Russia after all. Best not to risk it, not if they want to keep a low profile. 

So now, in their room, M’s sipping cheap vodka with a tipsy Spyral agent by his side, feeling like the cat who caught the canary. He gestures for Dick’s glass and pours them another round.

Grayson leans closer, pressing up against M’s side. “We did good today, Midnighter.” 

They did, with a notable lack of murder to boot. Playing by the bats’ rules isn't really M’s style, but it was worth it if he got to keep Grayson around a little longer. The warmth of Grayson’s body beside him stirs something within him. Dick isn’t as warm as the body he'd grown accustomed to having by his side, but he doesn't dwell on the fact. “‘Course we did. We make a good team.” 

It's the truth. It feels good to have a partner by his side again, even if he did have to kidnap said partner to begin with. But working with Dick is refreshing in a way. Not to mention, the view is pretty good too. M certainly isn't blind. That fight at the sauna, well, that was just a taste. And M so  _ very  _ much wants to taste. 

“It’s good to know someone’s got my back,” he says, “it’s been a while.” It sounds more melancholic than he'd intended. 

Dick lays his head on M’s shoulder, a comforting gesture. “You and Apollo?”

M shakes his head, half in answer, half in an attempt to shake the thoughts of Andrew from his mind. “Nah, that ship's sailed.” Or at least, for now. He takes another swig, draining his glass. It won’t do well to keep thinking about what could have been. And besides, he’s got Grayson beside him in an awfully playful mood tonight. M certainly doesn’t miss the way Dick’s nimble fingers are tracing patterns further and further up his thigh. 

Outside, there's a fresh snowfall, the powder lazing about across the city landscape. In the harsh and bitter wind, it's swept up in flurries, carried out into the streets. It had just started to fall when they'd made their way to the hotel, coat collars popped against the cold. There was snow in Dick's hair then, like a garland of baby's breath. The cold had brought a flush to his cheeks, a dewy pink the same shade as his lips. Lips M longed to taste. But instead, he ruffled Dick’s hair and turned away, heading down the street without looking back. 

But inside, with Grayson beside him, or more like half on top of him, that blush has returned, dusting across Dick's cheekbones. Heat radiates between them, the room's earlier chill having practically disappeared. Dick’s lips are spit-slick, catching the low light of the room. He leans closer, head tilted upward, and M’s lips part in anticipation. 

But Dick goes for another toast instead, missing M’s glass altogether. The liquid sloshes out of his own glass, spilling onto the comforter. “Oops,” Grayson giggles, turning his face against M's shoulder. M rolls his eyes as he takes the glass from Grayson's hand, placing it on the bedside table. Dick doesn't protest, though he does whine at the loss of contact between them.

“I think that's enough for you.” M sets aside his own glass, feeling less and less like the artificial warmth from the alcohol. He turns back to face Grayson, who tilts his head to the side as though he's trying to make his mind up about something. “M?” Dick asks, a strange tone colouring his voice.

“Yeah? Wh-”  M tries to say more, but he’s cut off when he gets a lap full of Grayson. He can't say he saw that coming. Dick’s arms wrap around Midnighter’s neck, hands resting against his nape. Talented fingers slip beneath the back of his collar in search of more skin. “Uh, what can I do for you, Grayson?” M meets his eyes, and is sucker-punched by the lust he finds there.

“Got any more handcuffs on you?” Dick asks as he settles himself in M’s lap, his knees either side of M’s hips. 

It's just a bit of fun, this flirting between them. Grayson doesn't mean anything by it, surely. Usually he isn't so receptive to M's playful half-advances, so M decides to play along. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make do.” 

He pictures Grayson tied to the headboard with his shirt, naked and writhing. Or maybe he doesn't even need to tie him up. Maybe his voice is enough to keep Grayson still and submissive. He might have to try it and see. 

M grins, “I guess so.” It's just a bit of fun, Dick grinding down onto M's steadily growing erection. There’s no harm in it, just messing about. It's just like the flirting, the teasing, but physical instead of verbal. It certainly is still teasing, that tantalising friction between them nowhere near satisfying enough. 

And it's just a bit of fun when Grayson sticks his tongue down Midnighter’s throat. The taste of vodka is abrasive, lingering on the kiss. M slides a hand up Grayson’s back to the nape of his neck. Dick’s hair is still wet from his earlier shower, clinging to M’s fingers. 

It's just a bit of fun, he tells himself. God, he shouldn't be doing this. Grayson's had too much to drink, surely he's not thinking thinking straight. Dick's definitely not thinking  _ straight _ if he's making out with M like his life depends on it. Not that M’s opposed to the evening’s change in pace, but this is too much even for him. He pulls away from the kiss, but it doesn't deter Dick in the slightest. Grayson licks a stripe along M’s throat, pressing hot, wet kisses to M’s heated skin. A nip to M’s Adam’s apple has him gasping, back arching up against Dick. He can feel Dick's pleased smile against his skin. 

He shouldn't be doing this, but it's so good. One hand slides down to Dick's ass, the other firmly grasping Dick's hipbone. He’s not sure if it’s to stop Grayson or keep him moving. 

“C’mon, M,” Dick says, tugging impatiently at the buttons of M’s shirt, “hurry the fuck up.” in the end he tears the shirt, buttons skittering across the wooden floorboards. 

“Someone’s impatient,” M smirks, leaving the material across his shoulders just to spite Dick. It just gets Dick even more wound up. 

M grunts as Dick scrapes his fingernails down M's chest. He’s hard against Dick’s squirming ass, trying and failing not to rut up against him. Grayson humps his hip frantically. “Easy,” he warns, trying to slow Grayson down, “you’re gonna hurt yourself.” At this rate, it’s going to end way too fast for M’s liking. Dick ignores him, continuing his desperate movements.

Something isn’t right. A horny Dick Grayson is one thing, and a very amenable thing at that, but this is wrong, too much. Sex pollen? He scans the body above him, listening for the symptoms. Stranger things have happened, after all. Pulse is quickened, pupils dilated, breathing rate increased, but he finds no evidence that the arousal is artificial. It’s far from reassuring. He’d never known Dick to be a lightweight when it came to alcohol, and they’d only had, what, three drinks? Four? Yeah, maybe too many for this to be happening. Fuck. 

“Hey, easy.” He pulls back trying to put some distance between them, but Dick follows his movements with his own body. “Enough,” M says, pushing at Grayson's shoulders and sliding out from beneath him. 

“No,” Dick whines softly at the loss of contact. He slumps onto the bed, face down, and ruts against the mattress, still muttering, “no, no, no.” Fresh tears fill his eyes, spilling out across his pillow. 

Crying. Dick is crying. What the hell? M rakes a hand through his hair. God, what has he done? “Fuck,” Midnighter says, scrambling off the bed and to his feet. Shit. He shouldn’t have done that, not to Dick fucking Grayson of all people. 

He heads to the cramped bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The room certainly wasn't built with his 6’5 frame in mind. It’s tiny, but it’s better than nothing. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and grimaces. His hair is a mess, and the flush across his cheeks still hasn't died down. There’s a few pink marks scattered across his throat like constellations. He brings a tentative hand up to his neck to trace them. 

He should have left, headed out into the city and found some nice Russian boy to fuck instead. Now he's achingly hard, trapped in a tiny fucking bathroom, with an emotionally compromised batbrat in their room crying all over the sheets. He turns on the faucet, trying and failing to shut out the sound of Dick's sobs. Braced against the vanity, he drops his head. A few deep breaths and some unsavory thoughts later, his erection begins to subside. He adjusts his pants, trying to look as though he hadn’t been mauled by a horny Spyral agent. He goes to button his shirt, and finds all but the top two buttons missing. Great. 

He splashes his face, but it does little to cool his heated skin. Vodka still tastes heavy on his tongue. Shit. 

He can't just hide in here forever. Maybe until Dick falls asleep.  _ Cries himself to sleep _ , more like. M slams his palm against the vanity. This wouldn’t have happened if he just kept it in his pants, M berates himself, hitting the vanity again. Stupid stupid stupid. Get it together, he tells himself, hiding in here isn't solving anything. He sighs and steels himself for the inevitable.

He opens the door slowly, tensing at the sound of the aging hinges creaking in protest. Grayson is where he left him, spread out on top of the sheets, face down and softly sobbing into his pillow. He should leave, let Grayson get whatever the fuck this is out of his system, and then they can pretend this never happened. He tries to make for the door, but his feet are frozen in place. 

Fuck. M scrubs a hand down his face. No, he can’t just leave Dick like this. Since when did he decide to grow a sense of morality? Apollo would be so proud, he thinks bitterly. M slides to the floor beside the bed he’d claimed as his own, out of Grayson’s line of vision. He sits with he back to the bed, the mattress and linens doing little to muffle the sounds of Dick’s tears. 

“Stop blubbering, Dick,” he says, pouring himself another drink. “It was a good time.”  _ Was.  _ The whole evening had gone to shit because he couldn’t fucking say no to Dick soon enough. It’s his fault for taking advantage. Dick wanted it, sure, but M should have known better. He should have put a stop to it the moment Dick made those eyes at him and crawled into his lap. 

Dick doesn’t reply. M downs the liquid in one go and pours himself another. “When you're sober, we're talking about this. Properly. But not now.” Again, no answer, but at least Dick's stopped sobbing. The silence isn't much better. The gravity of it keeps Midnighter weighted to the floor. He finishes the last two fingers of vodka straight out of the bottle, and he doesn't need a computer wired to his brain to tell him that he's going to feel it tomorrow. “Anything you'd like to say Grayson?”

“‘m not drunk.” From the rustling if the sheets, it sounds as though Dick rolls onto his back. “I miss home. The family. Bruce. The team.” His voice is still heavy with spent tears.

He’s homesick. Of course. How long had he been crisscrossing the world at Matron’s whim? When was the last time he was in Gotham? Spyral wasn’t were Dick belonged, anyone who knew him could see that. An entertainer like him didn’t belong behind a mask of purely anonymous ambiguity. Despite the domino mask, people knew Robin, recognised Nightwing; no one knew Agent 37. Maybe that pretty boy they called Agent 1, but how well can you know someone in the spy game? This mission the Bat has sent Dick on is taking its toll. He's got half a mind to show the Bat just how he feels about this, but something tells him that Grayson wouldn't exactly appreciate it. 

“I'm not exactly a solid replacement for the Bat.” Especially not if Dick wants to fuck against his hip like that. M bites his lip to keep his foot out of his mouth. 

“Not what I meant. I just...” he trails off. 

Midnighter sighs. So much for them having this discussion later. He stands, a little shaky, and turns to face Dick. “Look.” He crosses his arms, torn between coming closer and leaving. “I'll do a lot of things, Dick, but I won't be some pity fuck.” 

“I don't want your pity,” Dick says, but he doesn't deny the ‘fuck’ part. Intriguing. 

Fuck it. M steps closer, manoeuvring around the beds. “Then what do you want from me?” Now that's a loaded question. Dick seems to think so too, letting out a frustrated groan. 

After a while, he speaks up. “I never thought I'd have to beg you to get into bed with me,” Dick laughs, a little hollow, to himself. 

M hates that sound, hates himself for this. Grayson keeps saying everything he wants to hear, but he _can't,_ not now. “And I never thought I’d be telling you no, and yet here we are.” Here they were, in a dank hotel room in Russia, talking about their _feelings._

“M?” Dick sniffs. 

“Yeah buddy?”

“Why did you leave?” There's an exhaustion in his voice, a tiredness of this charade. “Did I-”

Why did he leave, wasn’t it obvious? “Because you were crawling all over me while half out of your mind. I needed to get out before I did something stupid.” Something stupid like doing Dick Grayson. “Before  _ you _ did something stupid.” Dick was going to regret tonight when morning came, he knew it. He won't let him make that mistake. 

“It's just a fuck,” Dick says, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. Quieter: “It’s just a fuck.”

M sits on the edge of Grayson's bed, resisting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. “It's not just a fuck, Dick.” God, he's gone soft in his old age. He lets out a chuckle, barely more than a huff, and shakes his head. “Not like this. You’re drunk and you’re upset: that’s what I call vulnerable. I don’t-” he takes a sharp breath “-I won’t do that. Not to you.” So he’s got a soft spot for Grayson, sue him. Half of Gotham's rogue gallery feels the same. But this, this isn't just a physical thing. Maybe it never has been. 

“I’m not drunk,” Dick says, and at least he has the decency not to argue the point about ‘upset’. His voice is soft, still a little rough at the edges from the tears. “I just want to feel something.” 

M wants to reach out, offer a comforting touch, but he keeps his hands firmly clasped in his lap. He wants to touch, but touch is the last thing this conversation needs right now. Instead, he offers as much comfort as he can with the words, “I know.”

Dick looks over at him, his beautiful blue eyes still red-rimmed. “I thought you wanted me.”

Fuck it. He reaches out for Dick, his hand resting against Dick’s calf. “You know I do. You have to know that.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he's lost. It’s just what Dick wanted to hear. Damn, he played right into Grayson's hands. 

“Then why can’t we do this?” Dick asks, his frustration obvious, “I want it. I want you.”

Heat coils in M’s gut at the blatant declaration, but he tries to tamp it down. “Dick,” he says, drawing out the single syllable, “we can’t.” But that's just the thing: they can. It would be so easy, too. They both want this, whatever  _ this  _ is going to be: one-time thing, maybe something more (he won’t keep his hopes up). Maybe the morning after wouldn’t be filled with regret. Maybe this -tonight- it could happen. 

“I know what I want, I know what you want. M please,” Dick says, threatening to shatter M’s resolve. 

His resolve, oh who is he kidding, he never had any resolve when it came to Dick fucking Grayson. “Come here,” he says, pulling Dick to him. Grayson settles in his lap, hands braced against M’s chest. 

One hand on Dick’s hip, the other at the top of his spine, M brings their foreheads together in an intimate gesture. They stay there for a moment, just breathing in each other’s air. “If you want a quick, hard fuck, I'll go find a nice prostitute or two for you.” He makes himself spit out the words. “But if you want me, we're doing this my way, okay?”

“You,” Dick breathes, “you.”

M tilts his head, leaning in to press his lips to Dick’s. It’s remarkably chaste, so unlike him, but the kiss and its softness conceal a fierceness below the surface. He pulls away a fraction, trying to gauge Dick's response. 

“Midnighter,” Dick whispers, his lips brushing M's as he speaks. He chases M, drawing back into the kiss. It's heavier this time, heat and lust pouring from one to the other. Dick deepens the kiss, opening to M's tongue. He skims his hands up and down M's chest, exploring what skin he can find. There's too much fabric between them. 

M starts with Dick's shirt, slowly and deliberately unbuttoning it before sliding it off Dick's shoulders. “Beautiful,” he says, taking in the sight. He’s seen Grayson without his shirt plenty of times, but now that he has permission to touch, he’ll take advantage of that. He nuzzles against Dick’s throat, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin there. Nipping along Dick's collar bone, he leaves a string of little pink marks across his skin. 

Dick sneaks a hand to M’s waistband, threatening to creep beneath. Instead, his hand cups M through the fabric of his jeans, squeezing at the bulge. Midnighter arches into the touch involuntarily. He grasps Dick’s wrist in one hand, stilling his movements. A needy whine comes from Dick's throat as he tries to break M’s hold. “Hey, hey, easy,” M hushes, stroking Dick’s back soothingly with his free hand, “you’re okay.”

Frustration is clearly stretched across Dick's face. “I want-”

“I know, I know. Fuck, I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Just let me, okay? Let me take care of you.” That's what tonight is, or what it's become. It's not just a fuck. With Dick, it never could have been.

Dick nods against M’s shoulder. “Okay.” The hand at Dick’s back slides down to Dick’s waistband, following the edge of the fabric to the front. He undoes the fly and gently tugs the pants down Grayson’s narrow hips. They manage to disentangle themselves long enough to both get their pants and underwear down. M laughs as Dick tries and fails to kick his pants off his ankles. 

Free from their fabric confines, Dick wraps his legs around M’s hips, leaving no space between them. He ruts against M, his cock rubbing against M’s firm stomach. “M,” Dick pants against his throat, “C’mon, M.”

“Relax, I've got you.” He lays them down on the bed, Dick on his back against the pillows. Their mouths draw together again, languid and warm. Midnighter wants this to last, but the mounting pressure in his gut tells another story. 

M goes to move, but Dick tightens his hold. “Unless you want tonight to be a real pain in the ass,” Midnighter says, “I suggest you let me get up.”  Dick relents and lets him go, catching M's meaning. Midnighter crosses the room to where his coat is thrown over the back of a chair. From the jacket pocket, he pulls a packet of lube and condom. Over his shoulder, he glances back at the bed. His cock twitches at the sight. Grayson's stroking himself with a languid pace, his smirk stretched wide. “Putting on a show?” M asked, “I always pegged you to be an exhibitionist.” He stalks back to the bed, supplies in hand. Settling between Grayson's legs, he nudges Dick’s thighs wider with his knees. “Don't get shy on me now,” he says, tucking a pillow beneath Dick's hips. Dick bucks his hips as though to make a point. “Good.” He tears open the sachet and slicks up his fingers, fingers that certainly do not shake with the prospect of what is to come. He's not nervous, and he's certainly not some blushing virgin, but this is  _ Dick Grayson _ for god's sake, spread out and waiting in his bed. 

A slick finger traces Dick's hole, teasing the furrowed flesh before dipping in. Dick clenches down on M’s index finger with a gasp. “Been a while?” M smirks. 

“Shut up.”

“Never,” he says, pumping the finger in and out. He rises up onto his knees, looming over Grayson's body. Lowering his head, he captures a pert nipple between his teeth. Dick gasps, arching upward to M's mouth.  

As he licks a stripe across the hardening nub, he slips a second finger in. Dick's nails scratch against M's shoulders, his neck, his scalp, anywhere he get within his fingers’ grasp. 

M leans into the touch and scissors his fingers, smirking at Grayson's choked-off moan. He wants to hear more. 

Dick pants impatiently, “I can take it.”

M makes a point of adding more lube to his fingers. “I know you can, but you don't have to.” If Dick could drop the tough guy act, this would go a lot smoother. 

“I'm not going to break.” Dick shoves roughly at M's shoulder, but the older man doesn't budge. 

“Because I won't break you,” M grunts, “so get that through your pretty little skull, Grayson.”

Grayson scoffs, his face turned away. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, M. Next thing you know, you'll be buying me flowers.”

M adds another finger, taking note of these way Grayson hisses at the stretch. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” M grins, curling his fingers just so. “I thought flowers would be a nice touch.” Dick twists against the sheets, hips rocking in time with M’s thrusts. “Don’t you think so?”

A choked-off “nghh,” is his only answer. 

Pleased that Grayson has gone from mouthy and impatient to slightly incoherent, M removes his fingers, wiping them on the sheets. “You ready?” M rolls on the condom and slicks himself up with the remaining lube. He jacks himself a few times for show, not missing the way Dick licks his lips as the sight. 

“Please,” Dick begs, oh so prettily, and who is Midnighter to deny him? 

M slides in, painstakingly slow. “Fuck, you're amazing. Have I told you that? Amazing. Just give me a moment to think up some better words than that.” He stills, fully sheathed, his head resting against Dick's shoulder. 

Giving Dick a few moments to breathe, Midnighter runs a soothing hand up and down Dick’s side. The texture beneath M’s fingertips alternates between smooth skin and waxy scars. Too many scars. His hand splays across the expanse of skin, covering and protecting. 

Dick squirms beneath him. “M, c’mon. Move.”

“Like this?” M says, with a smirk and a snap of his hips. Dick's moan is answer enough. He starts slowly, much slower than Dick would like, but Dick's not the only one who can tease. Deep, languid strokes have Dick throwing his head back against the pillows. Presented with a bared throat, Midnighter takes advantage of the granted access, softly nipping at the skin. 

“Fuck, M,” Dick pants, “c’mon.” He locks his ankles together at the small of M's back, drawing him even closer. Their thrusts become shallower but no less delectable. 

He reaches down to stroke Dick's cock. “So good, Grayson. So good for me.” With all of Dick's earlier teasing, he isnt going to last. Dick isn't either, from the way he looks absolutely strung out beneath M’s immense frame. M's pace quickens, both his strokes of Dick's cock and his own. 

“M,” Dick sighs against Midnighter’s throat. He coats both their stomachs with his release. 

M strokes him through it, his pace unwavering. He holds Dick to him, pistoning in and out. “I've got you.” With a few more jagged thrusts, Midnighter’s climax washes over him. 

Dick clings to Midnighter’s body, even as M pulls out and discards his condom. M extracts himself from Dick's limbs and slides from the bed. Dick whines in protest at his departure, but M soothes him with a lazy kiss to his brow. “I'll be back in a sec.”

He heads to the bathroom and returns with a damp washcloth, and cleans the mess on Dick's stomach and between his thighs. Dick murmurs his thanks, his face half hidden by the pillows. M pulls the sheets up over Dick and hesitates. There room has two beds, after all. Even after what happened, maybe it's best if he slept in the other bed... He doesn't get to make the choice. Dick reaches out a lazy hand for him, calling him closer. All protest melts from his being. With a soft smile he slips into bed beside Dick. 

It's a little small and M's feet hang off the end of the mattress, but with Dick pressed up against him he can't bring himself to complain. He stares up at the ceiling, at the water stains that look oddly like a topographical map of Romania, feeling more content than he has in months. 

“M?” Dick snuggles closer, using M’s body as a pillow.

“Hmm?”

“You got me,” Grayson murmurs sleepily and buries his face in Midnighter’s chest. 

“Yeah, I got you.” M strokes a hand through Dick's hair. “Get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

Dick wakes up to an empty bed and a wave of disappointment. Had he really expected M to stick around? After how last night turned out, yeah, maybe he had. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Last night wasn't a mistake, at least, not all of it. The way it started could have been thought out better, that's for sure. Stupid. He cards a hand through his sleep-mused hair. He's been half out of his mind, all the emotions he'd bottled up since he started Bruce's mission as Spyral started spilling out of him. He nearly… No. M had stopped him, made them talk it out before it went any further, and he's grateful for that. 

And then it did go further. The familiar ache below his waist confirms it. It might not be gratefulness he feels about how last night ended, but it's something similar. 

It was good. Mmm, more than good. He glances down at his hips, finding no marks on his skin. It's odd, uncommon, especially when he's not on top. Not that he's opposed to having it rough, he just can't remember the last time he got fucked without looking like he lost a fight. 

He remembers the forehead touching, every gentle touch of M's hands and lips. Cherished, that's what he felt. And now he's in their hotel room, naked and alone and feeling awfully like crying again. Which is ridiculous, and he  _ shouldn't, _ but- 

There's a knock at the door. A recognisable knock. How he recognises M’s knock, he doesn't know. He probably shouldn't think to much on that. Dick slips on his boxers and picks up a shirt from the floor. He goes to button the shirt, and finds all the buttons missing. A memory of buttons flying across the room brings a grin to his lips. He slides M's shirt on, letting it hang loose from his frame. With a low chuckle, he crosses the room to the door. 

“Morning,” Midnighter greets him on the other side of the threshold, the corners of his eyes crinkling. There's a cardboard tray with two coffee cups in one hand, and a bouquet of battered carnations in the other. 

Dick leans against the door, a look of fond exasperation on his face. “Good morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. Comments and Kudos are always welcome.
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on my [main tumblr](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/) or my [nsfw sideblog](http://second-hand-hell.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Nova xx


End file.
